


rude!

by starsoft



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: M/M, haikyuu au, short chapters bc like? lowkey this is just a set of chronological drabbles, side markhyuck, side nomin, uk everyone's just suffering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29931069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsoft/pseuds/starsoft
Summary: yukhei's got a crush on the new team member. that, and volleyball is fucking gay. thanks.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Kudos: 20





	1. scene 1.

**Author's Note:**

> for my fav

3:30pm in the afternoon. The exact hour and minute that Yukhei zones out, a little too distracted by the way Ten’s shirt lifts when he serves, the sliver of skin peeking past his jersey. 

Said serve comes hurtling at him, and he’s wiped out faster than the fucking dinosaurs by that one meteor, and he’s knocked out clean. Coach is calling someone over, the whistle blows, the practice match is suspended. As per usual.

“Nice play, idiot,” Kun’s snapping a towel at him twenty minutes later in the locker room, his features contorted into something that Yukhei can only describe as. Well. Disappointment. Disgust. 

“I’ll cut my losses,” Yukhei snaps back, slapping an ice pack to his knee. Kind of a mistake. It really does a lovely number on how sore his joints are. He inhales sharply, exhales out the loudest fucking groan he’s probably uttered in the last four months (which Yangyang definitely does  _ not  _ snicker at, no sir). “I think I’m getting old. I don’t remember getting this banged up like - I dunno, a year ago?”

“Oh, to not have a body, to not feel  _ pain, _ ” Kunhang dramatically drapes himself on Yukhei’s lap, hand on his forehead in mock distress. “Free me from my meat prison, Xuxi -”

Yukhei scowls, the weight’s entirely unwelcome on his lower half, especially not when Kunhang stinks of something between Irish Spring soap and BO. No thanks. He’ll pass. 

“You’re not exactly innocent either. What the hell was that block?” Kun’s leaving no survivors, apparently. “Or has that hair dye finally gotten to your brain?” 

Hendery perks up at this, pointing to his own scalp, dyed bubblegum pink. “Whatcha guys think? I just thought, y’know. Might as well.” Considering it’d been a cheddar yellow blonde before, it was a welcome change - though just as vibrant as every neon shade he’d chosen thus far. 

“It’s definitely a  _ distraction,  _ I’ll give you that,” Yangyang cackles. Hendery swiftly lobs a towel in his direction, narrowly missing.

“Welt. It doesn’t look bad - just looks a bit dead, not gonna lie,” Yukhei notes, running his hands through what can only be described as pink straw. It’s definitely seen better days. Something demented in him also seems to just awaken right then and there, because he’s pinching his fingers smartly in Kunhang’s poor, abused scalp, ripping out a clump of hair. 

Kunhang nearly breaks the sound barrier, curling up into fetal position on Yukhei’s lap. “That was uncalled for!” He’s clutching his head now, rocking back and forth. Leave it to 

“I think you need melatonin treatment or something -” Yukhei starts.

“You mean keratin, Xuxi.”

Yukhei startles at the voice, rightfully so, his head turns sharply to meet a smiling Ten peering over his shoulder, all wolfish grin and a thinly veiled attempt at hiding a smile. He’s doing a poor job of it. Probably on purpose.

“Ten.” It’s curt, distaste tightly bound on a syllable that’s already plenty short.

“Yukhei,” Ten drawls back, flashing a sweet, half-drawn sort of smile - the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, Yukhei knows this, having spied him across campus before. When he’s with others. It’s not the genuine, softer smile that sometimes, just sometimes, has his heart reeling in his chest.

“I knew that,” Yukhei mumbles, finally shoving Kunhang off his crotch. There’s an unceremonious  _ thud  _ as Prince Bubblegum tumbles his way down the sweaty locker room floor. “Keratin, I mean.”

“Sure you did.”

There’s something so deathly irritating about the way Ten turns on his heel, hips swaying subtly as he heads off to the showers.


	2. scene 2.

Two things about Ten Lee. He’s resented him since the day he met him. The effortless kind of strength that Ten carries in that lithe, smaller body of his. The way everything would just  _ work  _ for him, not lifting a finger and finding himself impossibly talented at the sport. 

Second thing. He’s been in love with him since day one. 

It’d been a sweltering day in August, just six months ago. Coach walking in, followed closely by a thin, unassuming sort of boy in a jersey two sizes too big.  _ Everyone, meet Chittaphon. He’s starting with us today. God knows we need some change around here.  _

A shy smile. Barely looking like an athlete, moreso a dancer, maybe. Try [forest nymph] too, with the dark hair, smooth skin, eyes that just subtly catch sunlight.

“Ten. Just call me Ten,” the boy laughs. Low, slightly melodic.

And miraculously, things  _ had  _ changed, just like that. Suddenly, the strategies weren’t complete bullshit. Things just seemed to magically click into place, as if Ten’d been that missing puzzle piece all along. Matches were easier to win, they were breezing through tournaments. Their track record was the best it’d ever been.

And Yukhei, the team captain, who’d been busting his ass for absolutely nothing. For what, two years? Two stupid years of blank scores, competitions they’d barely qualify for. 

And one night, while celebrating their victory over hotpot, Dejun drunkenly blurts out that Ten should be captain instead. The whole table goes quiet, turns to Yukhei in stupor. 

And Ten? He sets his glass down, mortified, eyes wide. Deer in the headlights. 

He mouths a soundless  _ I’m sorry about this,  _ at Yukhei. 

Yukhei just stares down at his half-eaten plate, wondering whether he loves, or despises that boy. 


	3. scene 3.

Two hours into practice, suddenly, everything aligns perfectly in Yukhei’s favor. It’s just another training day. April, all balmy weather (and Sicheng and Dejun nursing their pollen allergies to a fault, sneezing every nth second). 

He calls up a fast-tempo play, sneakers squeaking against the court. He hears a muffled shout of assent from Kun as the ball’s sent up. Like he’s underwater. But flying, somehow, at the same time. 

He sees the ball, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he’s aiming a calculated spike, flesh against synthetic leather, and there’s a sickening  _ smack _ echoing across the court. It hurtles across the other side, neatly planting itself past a  _ very  _ alarmed Dejun. 

“Dude, that was fucking  _ sick _ !” Before Yukhei can steel himself, an excited blur of Kirby pink’s barreling towards him, knocking all the air right out of his poor lungs.

“D - decent, it was decent,” Yukhei chokes out, wheezing, and manages to pluck Kunhang off of himself with little effort. He’s just realizing now, his palms are burning. The faint, uncomfortable sting shooting up his fingers, sparking. But it feels  _ good,  _ he hasn’t felt like this in months.

“Decent? That was more than decent. We might actually have a chance at sectionals this year!” Kunhang positively beams at him, and Yukhei can’t help but smile back. Maybe they do have a chance. If he can just pull that off in a match, maybe - just maybe. 

“Not bad, Xuxi.” 

Ten’s walking over, running a hand through his hair. It’s damp with sweat, matted against his forehead, but he still looks good. He looks radiant. Glowing, even. 

It’s fucking unbearable. And the adrenaline wears off, just like that.

“Thanks,” Yukhei manages. Just barely. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

And Ten smiles. Not the weird, halved grin, but a genuine smile. And Yukhei’s heart just barely skips a beat. 


	4. scene 4.

Two days from the match. He’s heard no shortage of claims that they’re gonna _cream_ Mark Lee like a Kinder Egg, but hey. He figures they’ve always had a chance, their coach absolutely dead set on reminding them that they’ve got one of the best lineups since ‘09, or something like that. A victory secured, and it’s smooth sailing from there - he knows this. 

Not that Yukhei actually cares, he’s just dead set on proving to himself that he’s  _ not  _ a damn failure. That volleyball isn’t just a stint, or he’s gotten by with his height alone. 

He wants to prove himself, even if it kills him.

Yukhei’s dumping two packets of chocolate protein powder into some soy milk (he ran out of regular, go figure) when Ten’s hip-checking the locker room door open, Starbucks cup in tow. Whatever he’s drinking, it’s an alarming shade of pink-purple, the same technicolor hue of Lavagirl’s hair (which he rewatched last weekend, unironically).

“Oh. You’re here early,” Ten remarks matter-of-factly. 

As if that hasn’t been obvious enough. Yukhei’s usually lounging alone in the locker room, brooding his little head off every morning. Usually at some ungodly hour, think  _ 6am.  _

“Morning,” Yukhei mutters back, shoving a spoon into his tumbler. 

“Mm, same to you,” Ten bites at the straw, running his tongue along the edge (not that Yukhei’s  _ staring  _ or anything) - takes a long, slow sip of his drink, before holding out his cup. “Refresher?” 

“No thanks. I’m set,” Yukhei raises his own tumbler, trying to ignore the newfound tightness in his jeans. He shifts a bit just to ease the pressure, clumsily pulling his gym bag over his crotch. And of course, karma, ever being the cutest bitch, decides to pop the clasp of it right then and there. The contents scatter pretty fucking  _ loudly. _

Scowling, Yukhei crouches down onto the damp floor, grabbing blindly at his things, ranging anywhere from a massive pack of Trident gum, to the green mini-towel that may or may not be molding over (note to self - the towel used to be  _ white).  _

A pair of pale, slightly bruised knees comes into his line of sight, as Ten bends down to help him.

“Thanks,” Yukhei manages.

They clean for a bit in silence, before Ten breaks it. Gently. 

“Something on your mind?”

“Nothing. Just - I don’t know. Been thinking for a while,” Yukhei tries to dismiss the topic entirely, but Ten’s too quick, too nimble in picking up cues. 

He’s in no mood to talk about his - ugh -  _ feelings,  _ especially not with Ten, of all people. He waves his hand dismissively at the question, opting for a mouthful of protein shake instead. 

“Okay. Can I ask you something, then?” It’s a harmless question, or so it seems, especially in the way Ten’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly in the morning sun.

Yukhei nods, noncommittal, cheeks bulging slightly.

“So you hate me. Let’s talk about that,” Ten says, voice falling low to a near-whisper. 

Yukhei swallows. Hard. His mouth is now fucking dry, aside from the bitter aftertaste of chocolate. It sits heavy on his tongue, barely gathering up syllables to reply. 

“I never said that.” 

He can’t even bring himself to look up at Ten, busying himself with a stray deodorant bottle on the floor.

“You’re not denying it,” Ten shrugs. He grabs his bag without a second glance, walks back out. 

Condensation drips off the plastic cup he’s left behind, echoing through the empty space.


End file.
